


Even With the Beauty (A Broken Heart Dies)

by Golden_Asp



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Madness, Necrophilia, Obsession, Oral Sex, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Stephen Strange is Not Okay, sex with a dead body, very unhealthy coping mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 18:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18997870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden_Asp/pseuds/Golden_Asp
Summary: The grave looked as it had before.Fresh.Full.No one knew it was empty.No one but Stephen.****MIND THE TAGS****





	Even With the Beauty (A Broken Heart Dies)

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by [@todo269](https://twitter.com/todo269) and [this tweet](https://twitter.com/todo269/status/1132916845244063744) in particular. I asked the artist for permission to write a fic inspired by it, and this is what happened. So thank you, I appreciate it so very much.
> 
> This story contains sex with a dead body. I cannot stress that enough. If you don't want to read that, back the fuck out. Take care of your fandom experience. Do not leave a hateful comment telling me you weren't expecting this, because it's tagged and I warned you here.
> 
> This deals with a Stephen driving mad by grief and guilt and obsession. This is not a happy fic. I tagged this with major character death even though Tony is already dead, and with non-con because it is impossible to consent if you're dead.
> 
> **Here's your last warning that this story has explicit sex with a corpse.**
> 
> Title comes from the poem 'Beautiful Death' by Lauren Phillips.
> 
> not beta-ed

It was easier than it should’ve been.

No one thought anything of it, Stephen Strange staying behind after Tony Stark was lowered into the cold embrace of the earth.

There was going to be a service at the Stark’s lake house the next day. Stephen would be there, wearing a suit that hadn’t seen the light of day since his neurosurgeon days. He would stand there, surrounded by the others, mourning the fact that Tony Stark was dead and gone.

Or not.

He wasn’t gone. 

Not really.

Stephen could bring him back. Stephen could _fix_ it. Fix him.

They could be together.

Stephen let out a breath, staring at the freshly disturbed earth.

Easy. 

He found himself on his knees, digging at the wet dirt. The pain in his hands meant nothing, not compared to the empty space in his heart.

_His fault his fault his fault._

He found himself kneeling on the casket, staring at the gilded red and gold thing that stood between him and his Tony. He didn’t remember getting there, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Only Tony.

The casket was open and Stephen crooned softly when he saw Tony’s face. Just as beautiful as he remembered.

His face was slack, skin painted to make him look more alive. Grey scars ran up his face, his ear shriveled, some of his hair gone.

“Tony, my Tony,” Stephen whispered. The Cloak slithered from his shoulders and wrapped around Tony’s corpse, lifting him from the cold, wet ground.

Stephen scrambled out of the hole, the Cloak floating next to him with its precious cargo. He waved his hand and the dirt fell over the empty casket. He spun up a portal and the Cloak carried Tony through. Stephen tilted his head, staring at the headstone emblazoned with Tony’s name.

His lip lifted in a smirk and he stepped through the portal.

The grave looked as it had before. 

Fresh.

Full.

No one knew it was empty.

No one but Stephen.

:::

Stephen stared at the back of Peter Parker’s head as Pepper Potts-Stark and Morgan Stark lowered the wreath into the lake.

He could tell him. Tell him that Tony was at the Sanctum, waiting for him to return from this farce of a funeral service.

But he wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t tell anyone.

Tony was his now.

Waiting for him.

No one spoke to him when it was over. He stood on the edge of the dock, staring into the dark water, alone.

He knew what they saw. A guilt ridden man. He sent Tony to his death.

He watched him die. He fell in love.

Stephen loved Tony. He was beautiful.

Tony was his.

No one else could love Tony like he could. No one else would understand.

How could they?

Stephen had watched Tony through more than fourteen million futures. He knew the man better than anyone else.

How could Stephen not fall in love with him? How could Stephen not need him?

He’d known, the moment he raised his shaking finger, what Tony would do. How many times had he seen it? How many times had he watched?

He only wanted time. And how ironic was it that the former master of the time stone only wanted more time?

As Tony’s casket was lowered into the ground, Stephen knew he had to get him. He _needed_ Tony. 

He turned his head, looking at those gathered outside the lake house.

He would never be part of them.

They would never understand.

They couldn’t understand the magic.

They couldn’t understand what he and Tony had.

Tony belonged to him.

And he belonged to Tony.

:::

Stephen walked through the Sanctum, the Cloak hanging from his shoulders. He ran his fingers over the wallpaper, humming quietly as he went. He stopped in front of a locked door and ran his hand over the lock.

The handle twisted and he smiled, stepping through.

The room was dark, curtains drawn. He shut the door and turned on the lone lamp, orange light throwing the room into shadows. 

There was only a chair and a bed in the room. The chair faced the window, curtains drawn tight. Stephen ran his fingers over the back of the chair and walked around it.

Tony sat in the chair, head tilted back against the high, red back. His hands rested on the ornate arms, one scarred, one perfect.

Stephen had removed Tony’s wedding ring. 

He didn’t need it anymore. 

Stephen knelt in front of Tony, eyes roaming over his body. He’d managed to get Tony out of his funeral suit and into a loose, white tunic. It would be more comfortable than the suit, certainly. 

There was no need for them to be formal with each other. Not anymore.

Stephen took Tony’s left hand and pressed his lips against the cool flesh.

“You are so beautiful, my love,” Stephen whispered, lifting his eyes to take in Tony’s blank stare.

It had been shockingly easy to find a spell that took the film from Tony’s whiskey eyes. It had been disturbingly easy to use his magic to make sure Tony would always remain beautiful. 

Tony was his. 

He pressed another kiss against Tony’s hand, eyes locked on his face as Tony’s head lolled with every movement Stephen made.

Stephen stood up, dragging his fingers through Tony’s hair.

“So beautiful,” Stephen murmured.

The Cloak flowed from his shoulders, wrapping around Tony and lifting him. Stephen slipped his arms around Tony, one around his waist, the other cupping his cheek. He smiled as he started to sway, dancing slowly around the room.

He slid his hand over the rough scars on Tony’s right side, dipping lower to undo the sash around his waist. Tony’s tunic fell open and Stephen let out a gust of air as Tony’s chest was bared to him.

“Beautiful,” Stephen whispered, dragging his fingers over the arc reactor scar, nearly hidden by the mass of scars from the infinity stones. He pressed his lips against Tony’s, tongue sliding in between slack lips. He moaned softly as his tongue touched Tony’s, goosebumps spiraling across his skin.

_Finally._

They spun, dancing around the room until they reached the bed, the Cloak taking Tony’s weight. Stephen spread Tony out across the bed, staring down at him. Tony’s head rested at an odd angle, and Stephen gently settled him across the pillows, vacant eyes fixed on the ceiling. 

Stephen pushed the tunic off Tony’s shoulders, tracing each scar. He pulled the tunic off completely, tossing it aside. 

He needed Tony naked beneath him, willing, waiting, wanting.

He pulled Tony’s pants off, throwing them to join the tunic. He moaned at the sight of Tony naked before him, legs spread, cock limp.

Stephen took Tony’s flaccid, cold penis in hand, squeezing gently and moaning. He’d wanted this for so long and Tony was _his_ now. He stroked the cold, soft flesh in his hand, his own body heat warming it.

“You’re so cold, my love. Let me warm you.”

Stephen lowered his head to Tony’s cock, taking the flesh in his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed as he buried his nose in the hair at Tony’s base. He ran his tongue around it, lifting his head and sucking on the tip. He swallowed him all the way down, spit running from his mouth and pooling on his skin. He could feel Tony’s cock warming in his throat and he moaned around the soft intrusion.

It was glorious.

Beautiful.

Stephen let Tony’s cock slip from his mouth with pop, nosing it out of the way to pull his testicles in between his lips. He rolled them with his tongue, scraping his teeth over the cool flesh.

Tony’s flaccid cock rested against Stephen’s forehead, spit slicked and rolling with every move Stephen made. Stephen nudged Tony’s legs open wider, cooing at how easy his legs spread for him.

“Look at you,” Stephen whispered. “Laid out for me. Beautiful in your glory.”

Tony’s head had fallen to the side, glazed eyes staring at the drawn curtains. Stephen stood up, shucking his pants and letting them fall to the floor. He left his tunic on, in too much of a hurry to remove it completely. His own cock jutted away from his body, hard and hot and dripping.

“Are you ready for me, my love?” Stephen said in a hushed, reverent tone. He reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out the small tube of lube, dropping it on the bed next to Tony’s hip.

“My love, my love,” Stephen whispered, lowering himself between Tony’s legs. He pressed a kiss against Tony’s lips, dragging kisses down over his chest. 

He dropped a kiss over Tony’s still heart, ignoring the tears that followed in his wake.

Tony was here. Tony was his.

Nothing else mattered. 

He pulled Tony’s nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping on it. He trailed kisses across Tony’s chest to his other nipple, lavishing it with the same attention before kissing his way lower. He kissed Tony’s cock again, driving his tongue into his slit.

He could almost taste Tony’s bitter spend mixed with the chemicals that had been used on Tony after.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” Stephen whispered, pushing Tony’s legs wide. The Cloak lay placid beneath Tony’s weight, lifting his hips to give Stephen a better angle.

He nosed at Tony’s balls, tongue drawing a line from his testicles to his hole. 

Empty. 

Waiting.

Wanting.

Stephen plunged his tongue into Tony’s body, his entrance opening easily for him.

“Oh, sweetheart. So willing,” Stephen whispered, tears rolling down his face. He ran his tongue around Tony’s rim, dipping in and out of the pliant opening before him.

He drove his hips into the bed, desperate for friction. Desperate to be inside his love.

He pulled his face away, pressing one last kiss against Tony’s inner thigh. He sat up, grabbing the lube and slicking his hard cock. He grasped himself with one hand, lining up his cock with Tony’s pucker.

He rolled his hips, moaning as Tony’s hole gave so easily to his cock. He buried himself to the hilt, Tony’s legs open around him. He rested his hands against Tony’s chest, moving down to cradle his flank, his waist.

“You’re perfect, my darling,” Stephen said, slowly rolling his hips. Tony gave so easily to him, taking him like he’d been _made_ for it.

Made for _Stephen_.

Tony’s head jerked with every hard thrust that Stephen slammed into him, blank eyes unseeing. Stephen moaned, throwing his head back. 

Tony was so loose and cold and around him, the only warmth coming from Stephen’s own body.

A tiny part of him cried out. This was wrong.

No.

Tony was his.

He was Tony’s. 

They were made for each other.

He would warm Tony by filling him with his seed. He would warm Tony up.

He would.

He picked up the pace, a broken sob escaping him as he drove himself into Tony’s cold, pliant, empty body.

The sound of flesh slamming into flesh echoed around the room, Tony’s cock moving with each thrust. Stephen leaned down, crushing his lips against Tony’s loose ones, driving his tongue into his mouth in a parody of how he pushed his cock into Tony.

He breathed into Tony, tears staining his skin.

He screamed Tony’s name as he came, cock pulsing as his seed filled Tony’s empty body.

He pulled out, watching as his come pooled beneath Tony’s body, staining the Cloak. He ran his fingers, shaking far more than usual, through Tony’s soft hair.

“I love you, I’ve loved you for a million lifetimes,” Stephen whispered, lowering his head to the crook of Tony’s neck. 

He ignored the tears running down his face.

They didn’t matter.

Only Tony mattered, and Tony was his.

No one would ever understand.

How could they?

Tony was beautiful.

Tony was dead.

And so is Stephen.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, I'd love to know what you thought.
> 
> This also fills the 'broken' square for my Ironstrange bingo and my 'empty shell' square for bad things happen bingo.


End file.
